Chapter 15 Part 3 Losing the Bank of London - 1

I woke up the next morning with a terrible headache.We left the Royalton Hotel and went to some restaurant for dinner and I drank a lot of wine there - I don't remember how I got back to the hotel where we were staying.Thank goodness I don't have any meetings or anything like that today.Honestly, I'd love to just lie in bed with Luke all day, happily. But Luke had already gotten up, and was sitting on the phone by the window at this time, his tone seemed a bit heavy. "Okay, Michael. I'll talk to Greg today. God knows. I haven't heard anything." He listened for a while. "Maybe that's why. I'm not going to let the plan go to waste again." He Another pause, "Yes, but that would make us wait—what, six months? Okay. I heard what you said. Yes, I will. Goodbye."

He put down the receiver and stared out the window, frowning.I rubbed my sleepy eyes and wondered if I brought aspirin pills with me when I came to New York. "Luke, what's the matter?" "You're awake," Luke said, turning around, and he smiled at me quickly. "Did you sleep well last night?" "What happened?" I asked again, without directly answering his greeting. "What happened to your plan?" "It's nothing," Luke said shortly, before turning back to stare out the window. "It's okay!" I said. "Luke, I'm not blind or deaf, and I think something's wrong."

"It's just a little thing," Luke replied after hesitating for a while, "you don't have to worry about it." He reached for the phone again, "I'll order you breakfast? What would you like to eat?" "Don't interrupt!" I yelled, confused. "Luke, I'm not...some stranger! For God's sake, we're going to live together! I'll stand by you. But you Gotta tell the truth to me. Is your plan in trouble?" Luke didn't answer right away - at that moment I was horrified to think that Luke would tell me to leave his business alone.But he slowly ran his hands through his hair, sighed deeply, and looked up at me.

"You're right. The truth is, one supporter suddenly became nervous." "Oh," I said, my face suddenly tense, "why?" "Because there's some bloody rumor that we're going to lose the Bank of London." "Really?" I stared blankly at him, feeling a chill creep up my back.Even I know how important the Bank of London is to Brydon & Co.They were one of Luke's earliest customers—they accounted for a quarter of Luke's company's annual profits. "Why do people say that?" "God knows," he brushed his hair back with both hands, "of course the Bank of London has completely denied such rumors, but then again, they might be swayed. Of course, I'm far away from England, and I'm not in London." ..."

"So you want to fly back to London once?" "No," he said, looking up, "that would make people more suspicious. Things are messed up here already. If I suddenly disappeared..." He shook his head, and I looked at him worriedly. "So what if your supporters drop out?" "Look for another one." "What if you can't find it? Do you have to give up your plans to come to New York?" Luke turned to look at me—and suddenly he had that dazed, anxious look on his face that I'd seen him do at press conferences before and that scared the hell out of me. Turn around and run away.

"That's not going to happen." "I mean, you've had a very successful business in London," I continued. "I mean, you don't have to come to New York to open this branch, do you? You can..." Seeing the stern look on his face, I couldn't help but stop talking. "Okay," I said, a little nervously, "don't worry—I'm sure it's going to be all right in the end. It's going to be all right." Neither of us spoke for a while—then Luke seemed to recover, and he looked up at me. "I'm afraid I have to see some people today," he said suddenly. "I won't be able to accompany you to that charity luncheon my mother is going to."

Oh hell.That was today. "Can she reschedule?" I asked, "so we can go together." "Looks like not," Luke said.There was a slight smile on his face, but I could see he was still in a state of disappointment, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment at his mother. "She'll definitely be able to reschedule." "Her work schedule is very busy. She told me that I didn't notify her sooner." He frowned. "You see, my mother is not a... very laid-back celebrity. She has a lot of burdens." Important responsibilities don't just come with a random change of schedule."

"Of course," I said hastily. "Anyway, that's all right. I'll go to this luncheon with her myself, okay?" I went on.As if to show that I wasn't afraid to go alone with his mother at all. "She's going to the beauty salon first," Luke said, "and wants you to go with her." "Oh, ok!" I said cautiously, "Well, that would be fun..." "This is also a chance for you two to get to know each other. I really hope you can get along." "Of course," I said firmly, "it's a great opportunity." I got off the bed, walked over to Luke, and wrapped my arms around Luke's neck.His face was still tense, and I reached up and stroked his forehead with one hand, opening his furrowed brows. "Don't worry, Luke. People will rush to help you. Don't worry."

With a forced smile on Luke's face, he kissed my hand. "I hope so." I sat on the sofa in the hotel lobby, waiting for Luke's mother.I was both a little nervous and a little curious.To be honest, I found Luke's family composition to be a bit odd.He has a father and a stepmother in England. He has lived with them since he was a child. He calls them his father and mother. There are also two younger sisters brought by his stepmother.His own biological mother left his father when he was very young, married a wealthy American, and left Luke alone.Then she divorced the rich American, married another richer American, and then...married another?

Anyway, Luke didn't see his own biological mother much during his adult years—she just sent him lots of presents for his schooling and came to see him every three years or so.You might think he must be bitter about it now.But actually, oddly enough, he also admired his biological mother.He has a giant photo of his birth mother on the wall of his study at home—much larger than the one his father and stepmother had when they were married.I do sometimes wonder how they'll feel about it, but I find it hard to ask Luke about it. "Rebecca?" A voice next to me interrupted my thoughts, and I was taken aback and looked up.In front of me was a tall, elegant woman in a pastel suit, with long legs and crocodile shoes, who was looking down at me.She looked exactly like the one in the huge photo, with high cheekbones, a darker complexion, and a Jackie Kennedy comb. Jackie Kennedy (Jackie Kennedy): Former President Kennedy His widow, who later married a Greek shipping magnate, died in September 1994. ——Annotation-style hair—only her skin is more wrinkled, her eyes are wide, a little unnatural, making people feel as if she is struggling and can't close them.

"Hello!" I said, standing up awkwardly, holding out my hand, "How are you?" "I'm Eleanor Sherman," she said in a strange half-British, half-American accent, drawling a little.Her hands were cold and bony, with two large diamond rings on her fingers that dug into my flesh when I shook hands with her. "happy to see you." "Luke said he was sorry he couldn't come," I said, handing her the gift Luke had asked me to pass on to his mother.After she unwrapped it, I couldn't even roll my eyes.It's a Hermes scarf! "It's nice," she said dismissively, putting the scarf back in the box. "My car is waiting outside. Let's go now." oops.Car with driver. Kelly's crocodile clutch—and those earlobes are real emeralds, right? We sat in the car and walked down the street.I couldn't help surreptitiously eyeing Eleanor.Now that I'm so close to her, it feels like she's older than I thought, probably over fifty.Although she still looks elegant, it's a bit like the original radiant photo has been exposed to the hot sun for a long time, has lost its luster, and then retouched it with heavy colors.Her eyelashes were thick and painted with mascara, her hair was polished, and her fingernails were bright red and smooth as porcelain.She's groomed... impeccably, but I know that no matter how many people put makeup on me, I'll never be able to do it like her. I mean, I think I looked really good today too.In fact, I'm still noticeable.There is a multi-page article in the American "Vogue" magazine, talking about how popular black and white collocation is now.So, I wore a black shift dress with the white shirt I bought at the sample sale the other day, and black leather shoes, the trendy pointed-toe high-heeled ones.I'm a little smug about how I look this morning.But now, under Eleanor's eye, I suddenly realized that I had a little brush on the edge of one of my fingernails, and a little spot on the side of my shoe—oh my God, was there a A thread is hanging down? Do I have to rip it off quickly? I put my hands down on my knees in a casual manner to cover the dangling threads.Maybe she didn't see it.And the fringes at the hem of the dress aren't all that noticeable, are they? But Eleanor, without a word, reached into her handbag, took out a pair of small silver scissors with tortoiseshell handles, and handed them to me. "Oh...well, thanks," I said awkwardly.I snipped off the annoying thread and handed the scissors back to her, feeling like a schoolboy. "This kind of thing often happens." I said with a nervous smile, "I looked in the mirror in the morning and felt that I was okay, but as soon as I walked out of the room..." OK, now I'm off the hook.Take it easy, Becky. "The English don't know how to groom," Eleanor said, "unless they groom horses." The corners of her mouth turned up a few micrometers, which was a little bit of a smile—the rest of her face was still intact—I couldn't help but smile in agreement with her. "That would be nice! My roommate loves horses. I mean, you're British, aren't you? And yet you're dressed...absolutely impeccable!" I'm glad I finally managed to give her a compliment, but the smile on Eleanor's face suddenly disappeared.She gave me a deadpan look, and suddenly I knew where Luke had gotten that cold, startling expression. "I'm a naturalized U.S. citizen." "Oh, yes," I said, "Well, I suppose you've lived here a long time. But I mean, in your heart, you're still... you won't object that you're a... I'm Say. Luke is very British..." "I've basically lived in New York since I grew up," Eleanor said indifferently. "Everything British about me has long since died out. Britain is 20 years behind America." "Yes," I nodded vigorously, trying to look like I understood what she meant.God, this role is not easy to play.I felt as if I was being watched under a microscope.If only Luke would come along, or if only she could rearrange the day.I mean, doesn't she want to meet Luke too? "Rebecca, who dyed your hair?" Eleanor asked suddenly. "Yes... I dyed it myself." I said. "Wozhiqi," she repeated my voice full of doubts, "I've never heard of such a person. Which beauty salon does she work in?" For a moment I could not utter a word. "Um... this," I stammered, "actually... I... I don't think you've heard of it. It's... very small." "Oh, I think you'll need another colorer," said Eleanor. "Your hair is too dark." "Yes," I said hastily, "you are quite right." "Guinevere von Landrenberg highly recommends Julien of Bond Street. Do you know Guinevere von Landrenberg?" I pretended to be thoughtful, as if I were going over acquaintances and friends in my mind, as if I were checking up the number of Guineveres I knew. "Well . . . no," I said at last, "I don't think I know the Guineville you're talking about." "The family has a cottage in Southamptonshire." She took out a cosmetic box, opened the lid and took a picture of her face. "We went there with the Bonnevilles for a while last year." I froze in my seat.The Bonneville family.Sassie's surname was Bonneville, and she was Luke's former girlfriend. Luke never told me they were friends with the family. Ok.Don't get too nervous.Don't be so nervous just because Eleanor hastily mentioned Sassie's family.She didn't mention her directly after all. "Sassie is such a versatile girl," Eleanor went on.She snapped the lid of the makeup box shut, "Have you ever seen her water-ski?" "No." "And how about playing polo?" "Neither," I replied sullenly, "I haven't seen it." Suddenly, Eleanor tapped her fingers imperiously on the glass behind the driver's seat. "You turned too fast just now!" she said, "and then you have to remember that I don't like to be dangled in my seat. Well, Rebecca," she said, going on Leaning on the back of the chair, he gave me a dissatisfied look at the same time, "What hobbies do you have?" "Hmm..." I opened my mouth and closed it immediately.My mind went blank.Come to think of it, I must have some hobbies.What do I do on weekends? How do I relax? "This, I..." This is really weird.There must be something else in my life besides shopping. "Well, obviously, I like... meeting people," I said hesitantly, "and... studying fashion through, well... the medium of magazines..." "Do you like any sports?" Eleanor asked, looking at me coldly. "Are you hunting?" "Well... I haven't been there. But I started practicing fencing recently!" I said suddenly with inspiration.I bought a fencing suit, didn't I? "I've been playing the piano since I was six." This is totally true.But I gave up at the age of nine, so I guess that's out of the question. "Really," said Eleanor, with an indifferent smile, "Sassi is musically talented too. She gave a Beethoven piano sonata recital in London last year. Did you go to it?" Damn Sassie.To hell with her water skiing and sonatas. "No," I replied gruffly, "but I... I gave a recital myself, in the past. Played... a Wagner sonata." "Wagner's Sonata?" Eleanor asked suspiciously. "Um...yes." I cleared my throat, thinking about how to change the subject and stop talking about talents. "So you must be very proud of Luke!" I secretly hoped that saying that would lead her to talk happily about Luke, at least for ten minutes.But Eleanor just looked at me, and said nothing, as if I were talking nonsense. "He's running a business, among other things," I went on doggedly, "and he's doing very well. He seems determined to come to New York and do something in America." I said. Smiled condescendingly at Eleanor. "True success has to be achieved in the United States," she said, looking out the car window. "Here we are." Thank goodness. To be fair, the beauty parlor Eleanor visited was quite impressive.The waiting hall at the entrance is like a Greek cave, with thick columns, and the soft music in the air accompanied by the fragrance of essential oils.As we approached the reception desk, a stylishly dressed woman in black linen addressed Eleanor respectfully as "Mrs. Sherman."They chatted quietly for a while, and the lady glanced at me now and then and nodded.I stood aside, trying my best to look like I didn't care about their conversation, and casually looked at the price list of essential oil baths.Suddenly Eleanor turned around and took me to a guest lounge area where there was a jug of mint tea on a table and a sign asking customers to keep their voices low and stay in the lobby. Quiet lettering. We sat in silence for a while - and then a woman in a white uniform came and took me to a nursing room where nursing gowns and slippers for clients were prepared, all in embossed Wrapped in patterned cellophane.While I was changing my clothes and shoes, the lady was busy preparing various beauty utensils and materials.I was so happy, I didn't know what beauty services I would enjoy.No matter how much I insisted on paying for it myself, Eleanor paid for it for me—and opted for the "head-to-toe" package, even though I didn't understand what it was like at this point.I hoped that there would be a pleasant aromatherapy massage, which would relax the muscles of the whole body-but when I reclined on the reclining chair, I saw a jar full of wax, which was being heated on the stove. I suddenly felt an uncomfortable convulsion in my stomach.I've never had waxing on my thighs yet.It's not that I'm afraid of pain, but—— Well, even if I am afraid of pain. "So—waxing is part of my regimen?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant. "You have full body waxing in your grooming routine," said the beautician, looking up at me a little surprised. "Head to toe. Legs, arms, eyebrows, Brazilian." Arms? Eyebrows? My throat tightens.I hadn't been this scared since my trip to Thailand when I was vaccinated. "Brazilian?" I asked timidly. "Then what is that?" "It's kind of a bikini-style wax. Almost a full body wax." I stared blankly at her, my mind spinning non-stop.She doesn't mean-- "Then, please lie down on the couch—" "Wait a minute!" I said, trying to keep my voice as composed as possible. "When you said 'full body', you meant..." "Yeah." The beautician smiled slightly, "If you want, I can make a crystal tattoo for you on that part of yours. A heart shape that represents love, or a special flower is very popular now. Character initials?" No, that can't be true. "Then, please lie down on the couch and relax—" relax? still able to relax? She turned back to her jar of heated wax—and I felt a wave of terror settle over me.Suddenly, I understood Dustin Hoffman. gentlemen. ——Annotation of the hopeless feeling of sitting in the dentist's operating chair. "I won't do this anymore." I heard myself yelling, and struggled from the couch to the ground again, "I won't do this anymore." "Which kind of thorn flower?" "None." "Do neither?" The beautician came up to me, holding the jar of wax in his hand—and I dodged in terror behind the couch, clutching my body with my nursing gown. "But Mrs. Sherman has prepaid for the full package of care—" "I don't care what kind of treatment she paid for," I said, backing away again and again. "The waxing on the legs is okay, but the arms are not. The... place is absolutely not. The crystal heart you mentioned just now." The beautician looked sad. "Mrs. Sherman is a regular customer of ours. She specifically asked for this head-to-toe treatment for you." "She won't know if she did or didn't do it!" I said desperately. "She won't know! I mean, she's not going to see it, is she? She's not going to ask her son, did he get his initials tattooed on his girlfriend's..." I couldn't bring myself to say the word "part," "I mean, come to think of it, isn't it?" I stop.The atmosphere in the room is dignified, and in the silence there is only the slight sound of the water flowing in the water pipe. Suddenly, the beautician burst out laughing.I looked her in the eye - and started laughing myself, and getting a little hysterical. "You're right," said the beautician, sitting in a chair and mopping her eyes with her hand. "You're right. She won't know." "How about a compromise?" I said, "You wax my legs and my brows, and we don't talk about the rest." "I'll give you another massage," said the beautician, "use enough time." "Dealed!" I breathed a sigh of relief, "Great!" I felt a little tired, so I lay down on the couch, and the beautician skillfully covered my body with a towel. "So Mrs. Sherman has a son, doesn't she?" she said, smoothing my hair with her hand. "Yes," I looked up at her, "she never mentioned it?" "I don't remember it. She is a regular customer of our shop for many years..." the beautician shrugged. "I thought she had no children." "Really," I said, lying back on the couch, hoping not to show any sign of surprise. I walked out of the nursing room after an hour and a half looking radiant and radiant.Brand new eyebrows, smooth and clean jade legs, after a wonderful fragrance massage, the whole body is full of youthful vitality. Eleanor was waiting for me in the waiting hall outside, and I walked towards her, and she looked me up and down with eyes approvingly.A flash of dread passed through me at that moment, thinking that she might ask me to take off my coat and show her my arms—but all she said was, "Your eyebrows are so much better." Turning around and walking out of the beauty salon, I quickly followed behind her. We got back in her car and I asked, "Where are we going to the lunch?" "Nina Heywood is having a little charity luncheon calling for charitable donations to help the poor," she replied, looking at one of her own perfectly manicured fingernails. "Do you know the Heywoods? Or the von Gelders?" Of course I didn't know them at all. "No," I heard myself reply, "but I know the Websters." "The Websters?" She raised her round eyebrows. "The Newport Websters?" "It's Oakes Kent Webster. Their Janice and Martin." I looked at her innocently. "Do you know them?" "No," said Eleanor, giving me a cold look. "I don't remember knowing them." The car continued to drive forward, and we were both silent.Suddenly, the car stopped, we walked out of the car, and walked into the lobby of a building. There was a special person at the entrance of the building to open the door for the guests. The hall was very spacious, luxuriously decorated, and bright mirrors were everywhere.We step into a resplendent elevator car, go up countless floors with a man in a peaked cap, stop and walk into a lobby.I have never seen such a grandeur. The hall is extremely spacious, with a marble floor and a double row of low stairs leading to a platform on which a piano is placed.Huge gold-framed oil paintings adorn the light-colored silk walls, and there are hanging greenery on the walls around the hall that I've never seen before.Well-dressed, slender ladies chatted intently with each other. Waitresses weaved through the crowd, serving champagne to the guests, and a girl in loose dress played the harp. Is this a small charity donation luncheon? Mrs. Haywood, the hostess of the luncheon, was a diminutive woman in a pink dress who was about to shake my hand when she rushed to greet a newly arrived dignitary, a jeweled Ladies adorning Muslim custom hijab.Eleanor introduced me to a Mrs. Pike, a Mr. Woosh, and a Miss Kotomi, who were then swept away by the crowd.I was on the left and right, chatting with the guests around me, and they all seemed to think that I must be a close friend of Prince William. "Tell me," said Mrs. Pike eagerly, "what is the state of mind of that poor young man after suffering... such a shock... shock: referring to the tragic death of Princess Diana, Prince William's biological mother." ?” she asked quietly. "That kid is really born of noble blood," Mr. Woolsh said excitedly. "Young people these days really have to learn from him. Tell me, will he serve in the army?" "He... didn't mention it," I said almost desperately, "I'm sorry, I have to..." I fled into the bathroom—it was as spacious and luxurious as the hall, with rows of soaps and free perfume bottles on the sink, and a soft chair for guests to rest for a while.I should like to be able to hide here all day, but I dare not stay too long lest Eleanor should come looking for me.I mustered up what little courage I had left, stood up bravely, and returned to the crowd in the hall.In the hall, the waiter quietly shuttled through the crowd, whispering to the guests from time to time, "Lunch is about to begin." The guests moved one by one through a pair of double doors.I looked around, looking for Eleanor, but there was no sign of her.Next to me was an old woman in a black embroidered dress. She was sitting in a chair, and she was trying to stand up on crutches.It looked trembling. "I'll give you a hand," I said, rushing to support her, "shall I serve you your champagne glass?" "Thank you, honey!" I took her arm and the lady said with a smile.We walked slowly together into the palace-like dining room.People in the restaurant pulled up the seats around the round table, and the waiters came and went to bring the bagels. "Margaret," said Mrs. Heywood, coming up and shaking the old woman's hands. "Here you are. I'll find you your seat..." "This young lady helped me," said the old woman, as she sat down, and I smiled modestly at Mrs. Heywood. "Thank you, dear," she said blankly. "Bring me my glass, too...and some water for us?" "Of course!" I said with a friendly smile, "No problem." "I want gin," said an elderly man next to him, turning around. "Coming soon!" What my mother said was right.Helping people means making friends.I felt very different, doing the hostess a favor, as if I was hosting the feast with her! I don't know where the kitchen is, but the waiters are all walking towards that end of the restaurant.I followed them through a double door, and sure enough, I arrived at the kitchen. The style of this kitchen would really make my mother envious.Granite and marble everywhere, a refrigerator as big as a space shuttle, and a pizza oven built into the wall! Waiters in crisp white shirts bustled in and out, trays in hand, and two chefs stood by the central island hob , with a sizzling pan in hand, and someone yelling, "Where's the damn napkin?" I found a bottle of water and a glass, put them on a tray, and looked around for gin.I bent over to open a cabinet door when a man with short dyed hair patted me on the shoulder. "Hey, what are you doing?" "Oh, hello!" I said, standing up. "I'm looking for gin. Someone wants gin." "No time for that!" he yelled. "Don't you know we're so short-handed? What's needed now is to get food on the table!" Tight hands? I looked at him blankly. After staying for a moment, I looked down at my black skirt. I couldn't help but suddenly realized, and couldn't help laughing out loud. "No! I'm not...I mean, I'm actually..." How can I say it without hurting his pride? I know that being a waiter actually does the best you can for your guests.Anyway, he might as well be a good actor in his business hours. While I was still flustered, he placed a silver platter of smoked fish on my arms. "Hold it! Take it out!" "But I'm not—" "Take it out! Serve it on the table!" I turned and ran away holding the plate in shock.Well, I'll get out of his way, find a place to put the plates down, and find my seat. I walked cautiously back into the dining room, walking between the tables, looking around for an empty surface on which to put the tray.There are no side tables in front of me, behind me, to my left or right, not even empty chairs.I really can't just put the plate on the floor, and it's a bit abrupt to reach over the shoulders of the guests and squeeze to the edge of the table to put the plate on the table. It's kind of annoying.The platter was so heavy that my arms started to ache.I passed Mr. Woolsh's seat and smiled at him, but he didn't seem to be looking at me.It was as if I had suddenly become invisible. This is really a little funny.There must be somewhere for me to put this tray down. "You've got to bring the food to the table!" a voice groaned behind me, startling me. "Okay!" I replied, feeling a little annoyed again. "Okay, I'll serve it to the table." Oh my God.It seems that it is more labor-saving to serve the dishes to the guests.At least you can hold it without using your arms.You can find a seat to sit down.I hesitated and walked to a nearby dining table. "Hmm... anyone want this smoked fish? I think it's salmon...or trout..." "Rebecca?" A well-combed head in front of me turned around, and I took a step back in fright.Eleanor was looking up at me, her eyes like two sharp swords. "Hi," I said nervously, "would you like a piece of smoked fish?" "What are you doing?" she said in a low, almost angry voice. "Oh!" I swallowed, "well, I just, look, help..." "I'd like a piece of smoked salmon, please," said a woman in a blond coat. "Is there any skim French dressing?" "Well...well, actually, I'm not..." "Rebecca!" cried Eleanor, almost from her half-open mouth, "put down the plate. Go... sit down." "Well, of course it is," I said, looking at the plate hesitantly. "Or let me help..." "Put down the plate. Now!" "Okay." I looked around desperately and saw a waiter walking towards me with an empty tray.Before he could react, I had placed the platter of smoked fish on the empty plate he was holding, and ran shuffling along the round table to my empty seat, Hands smoothing my hair. I sat down on my seat and covered my knees with a cloth napkin, and all the guests at the same table were silent.I gave them a friendly smile, but no one responded.An elderly woman wearing a necklace of six large pearls and hearing aids in her ears approached Eleanor and whispered, but said so that everyone could hear clearly, "Is your son here?" Friendship with...a waitress?" Becky Bloomwood's budget for New York trip Daily Budget (Planning) Diet $50 Purchase $50 $100 Occasional fees $50 $60 $100 Total $250 Daily Budget (Modified) third day Diet $50 Purchase $100 Occasional fees $365 Other fees $229 Rare Sample Sale Opportunity $567 Another rare sample sale opportunity $128 Unavoidable additional costs $49 Necessary expenses related to work (shoes)